


Untitled (Season 2)

by ohcaroline



Category: Dark Shadows (1991)
Genre: Continuation, F/M, Gen, On Hiatus, Pacifying My Inner Teenager, Personal Canon, Purple Prose
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-04
Updated: 2016-12-09
Packaged: 2018-08-18 13:09:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8163088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohcaroline/pseuds/ohcaroline
Summary: My personal continuation of the show: picks up immediately where the cliffhanger ended. Currently about 15K words (on hiatus).





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote 12,000 words one weekend back in 2008, and now I've decided to set them free. This is entirely a personal labor of love, a comfort fic for myself, not intended to be great (or even good) writing. Everything is handwritten, so I'll post scenes when I have time to transcribe them. Then I can figure out where I want to go next with this - I do so want to get back to it one day.

“Please, everyone, just move back and give her some air.”

Julia put an arm out to stave off the press of people crowding around the bed. With the other she tried to steady Victoria, who still clung frantically to Elizabeth, struggling to breathe between sobs and staring at Barnabas in wild-eyed terror. Elizabeth tried to calm her as best she could.

“It’s alright, darling, you’re alright now. You’re back with us. You’re safe.”

“What happened?” Roger demanded. “What happened to the girl? Did you see her?”

Julia moved Victoria’s black hair aside to check her pulse, exposing her bare neck to the lamp light. Around her throat ran a mottled ring of bruised abrasions swiftly darkening from pink to violet.

“Dear God!” cried Elizabeth.

“Good lord, it looks like she’s been strangled,” Roger said. “Victoria, who did this to you? Where were you? What happened?”

“Look, I need everyone to calm down,” Julia said. “Give me some room to examine her. She’s in no state to be interrogated right now — we can figure out what’s happened after I’ve taken care of her.”

“She ought to see a doctor,” Roger said.

“She is,” Julia snapped.

Elizabeth gently extricated herself from Victoria’s grip and stood, reaching for her brother’s hand. “Of course. Come, Roger, let’s give them a few minutes alone. We’ll fetch some blankets and get her something warm to drink.”

Roger frowned. “Fine. Come on, Maggie, let’s let the doctor do her work.”

Maggie did not answer. She leaned against the bedpost, blinking at Victoria with a dazed expression on her face; the weird fury had gone from her eyes, leaving only muddled confusion. Roger touched her shoulder and she flinched.

“Maggie? You alright?”

“What? Oh. Yeah.” She glanced at Julia, but said nothing else before following Roger and Elizabeth from the room. Julia watched her go, but a coughing fit brought her attention back to her patient.

“Easy, Vickie, easy, just breathe. There you are, that’s better. Can you understand what I’m saying? Do you know where you are?”

Victoria nodded. She seemed lucid enough and aware of her surroundings, if panicked and more than a little disoriented. Her breathing was labored, but without rattling or any other signs of lung damage; her pulse was elevated, but not dangerously so. Both pupils were responsive, and there was no hemorrhaging in the eyes. The abrasions around her throat looked painful but seemed not to have caused severe trauma. Whatever had strangled her, it had not done so long enough to endanger her life — though from the look in her eyes, that had been the precise intention.

In the far corner, standing in the shadows beyond the lamp’s reach, Barnabas watched them in silence. He had not said a word during all the chaos, nor had he made any move to leave with the others. Victoria’s attention was distracted by Julia’s ministrations, and Julia thought it best to keep it that way.

“You’re alright now,” she said again, in as soothing a tone as she could manage. She was a researcher and her bedside manner had never been exemplary, but Victoria seemed to calm a little, if only from the familiarity of a friendly voice. “It’s over now. Whatever has happened, it can’t hurt you anymore.”

Victoria tried to speak, then swallowed painfully and tried again. “I thought I was dead.”

“You most definitely are not. That is one thing I can say with certainty.”

“But… how did…?”

“I don’t know. We don’t know any more than you do. But what’s important is that you’re back where you belong, and that’s where you’re going to stay. We can figure out the rest later.”

She plucked an alcohol swab from the medical kit on the nightstand and began daubing gently at the marks on Victoria’s battered neck. Victoria flinched at the touch, but seemed not to feel the stinging swab or the fingers probing at her larynx; with her airflow restored and comprehension setting in, blind panic was giving way to the placid calm of shock. She stared out into nothing, her eyes unfocused and glistening with the remnants of her tears. The bedroom grew quiet but for the raindrops scrabbling at the window and the night wind moaning in the trees outside.

“I couldn’t save them,” she said softly. “No matter what I did, I couldn’t save them. They wouldn’t listen. Only Peter… and he’s dead too. I couldn’t save any of them. Jeremiah, Josette, Sarah…”

Behind them, Barnabas drew in a breath.

“Shh,” Julia said. “Don’t try to talk. Your vocal cords may be bruised.”

“But Daniel!” She grasped Julia’s arms, wide-eyed again, and words began to pour from her. “I must have saved Daniel! I must have, or no one would be here! Daniel must have lived, he must have! It wasn’t Josette, Julia, it was him all along. It was him. It was—” She tensed, and her eyes grew huge and terrified. “It was _him_ , Julia! All this time, it was _him_!”

“Victoria, calm yourself, you’re—”

“No, no, you don’t understand! It was him, Julia, he was there! It was him the whole time! He was… he’s… oh my God…” The tumult overcame her, and Julia caught her as she collapsed.

Julia eased her back onto the pillows, checked her pulse again, and brushed her dark hair from her face. She felt the air stir beside her, and a shadow fell across the bed. She turned and Barnabas was there, peering down at Victoria’s face, his features harsh and drawn in the lamp light.

“She’ll be alright,” Julia said. “She’s overwhelmed, that’s all. Whatever did this to her, she was saved from it just in time.” She looked at the darkening bruises on Victoria’s neck and shook her head. “I just wish I knew what it was.”

“They hanged her,” Barnabas said.

She whirled. “What? How can you know that?”

“Because I remember it.” He was still looking at Victoria. “I remember it now.”

“You remember her? In your past?”

“I didn’t before. All this time I remembered only the other girl, but now… I cannot explain it. I remember them both. Two pasts, two lives. She was there. I knew her.”

“My God,” Julia whispered. For the first time she noticed the dress Victoria was wearing: some kind of heavy brocade, floral embroidery with hand stitching, voluminous skirts and bell sleeves like something out of a museum or Colonial Williamsburg. It was scuffed and dirty, smelling faintly of straw and damp stone. Like something out of a romance tale, Julia thought — the damsel rescued from the tower in the nick of time.

It was all true. This had truly, actually happened. Victoria had physically traveled two hundred years into the past, existed there, spoken to people who had been dead for centuries. For weeks she had lived and moved in another time. In Barnabas’ time.

_It was him, Julia!_

The fear in her eyes...

“She knows,” Barnabas said.

“That isn’t possible―”

“She knows.”

“How? How could she?”

Barnabas shook his head. “She was taken at my brother’s funeral — she couldn’t have known what happened after. But I saw it in her eyes. She knows what I am.”

The pain in his face made Julia’s eyes sting with the threat of tears. She blinked them back, dug her nails into her palms to stay focused.

“You don’t know that,” she said. “She’s been through a terrible ordeal — we don’t know for certain where she was, what she saw there, or how much of it she will remember.”

Barnabas did not reply. He was still looking at Victoria’s face, memories tumbling through his eyes.

“Did they really try to kill her?” Julia said.

“She took all the blame. They thought it was all her doing. All the deaths — not just Jeremiah, but the townswomen, my family, Josette… and me. Everything I had done, they blamed on her. And they hanged her for it.”

“This is not your fault, Barnabas. You can’t think like that. I still don’t understand any of this, but I know who is behind it, and it’s not you.”

He touched the power switch on the respirator, still flipped to the off position. “She did this?”

“Yes. I didn’t realize it at first, but yes. The girl wasn’t dying fast enough for her. She must have known what was happening to Victoria, and she had to make sure Phyllis was dead so Victoria would be trapped, unable to return. So the two of you would be kept apart forever.”

He finally looked up at that. His lip curled, and he pierced her with an icy stare. “A motivation with which you are intimately familiar.”

Julia looked away. Softly she said, “I only want to help you, Barnabas.” What else could she say?

Nothing, apparently. He drew himself up to his full height and clasped his hands behind his back, his spine stiff, his face a hard mask.

“You will do everything you can for her,” he said. “Do you understand? You will see that she recovers from this entirely. And then… we will see.”

He left her there, slipping into the shadows to exit the darkened bedroom without a sound. Julia watched him go, then sighed and sat down in the chair beside the bed, dropping her face into her hands.


	2. Chapter 2

A fire burned in the sitting room hearth when Julia came downstairs. Elizabeth sat in her favorite chair, a teacup forgotten between her palms, while Roger leaned against the mantel, frowning into a double brandy. Maggie sat in the farthest armchair, staring into the flames. She did not look up as Julia approached.

“How is she?” Elizabeth asked.

“Much better,” Julia said. “The tea you brought up helped. She’s back in her own room now, having a hot bath. I offered to give her something to help her sleep, but she said no.”

“You think she’ll be alright?” Roger said. “Those marks on her neck look awful.”

“They do, but I don’t think there will be any lasting damage. She just needs time to get over the shock. She was dehydrated and chilled, and her blood sugar was quite low. Wherever she was, I don’t think they had been treating her very well.” The thought made Julia move to the hearth and warm her hands before the fire, feeling a bit cold herself.

“The poor child must have gone through something terrible,” said Elizabeth. “I can’t bear to think what might have happened to her. And if that other girl took her place when she returned―”

“Don’t think about that,” Roger told her. “That girl belonged in that time ― whatever happened to Victoria, it was supposed to have happened to her all along. Remember that. Things have been set right.”

“It’s all so terrible,” Elizabeth said, and wiped away a tear.

Roger left his drink on the mantel and went to her. He took the teacup from her and covered her hands with his. “You should get some rest, sweetheart.” It always amazed Julia how much his demeanor softened when he spoke to his sister. “It’s after midnight. If there’s no more to be done for Victoria, there’s no sense in you staying up all night and exhausting yourself too.”

“Roger’s right,” Julia said. “We should all try to get some rest. Victoria can easily call us if she needs anything, and I’ll look in on her first thing in the morning. Then we can try to tackle all of this later, in the light of day.”

“Perhaps you’re right,” Elizabeth said. “Though I doubt I’ll get any sleep.” As she stood and began tidying up the tea tray, she added, “I’m surprised Joe and Carolyn slept through the commotion, not to mention David.”

“It’s for the best,” Roger said. “We can explain it to them later, if we can figure it out ourselves. Doctor, are you alright?”

At the mention of Joe, a thick wave of nausea rolled over Julia. She put a hand to her belly briefly, then forced a smile. “Yes, I’m just a bit over-tired. I don’t believe I’ve eaten quite enough today.”

These past 24 hours had supplied plenty of distraction to keep her from thinking about what had happened in Barnabas’ cellar, and the truth was she was not yet equipped to be reminded of it. And as for Carolyn… No, all of that was too much to contemplate right now. Best to focus on the present. The rest could wait for the light of day, and too many things remained to be addressed before this night would be over.

“Well,” Elizabeth said, “I think I will lie down and read for a while. Perhaps I’ll be able to sleep a little. Good night, doctor, and thank you again for your help.”

“Of course. Good night, Elizabeth.”

“You should get some sleep too, Maggie,” Roger said. Quiet all this time, she still sat staring into the fire, oblivious to all of them. When she didn’t respond, he put a hand on her arm and shook her gently. “Maggie?”

Maggie flinched. “Huh? Oh, yeah, I will. I just want to sit here a minute longer.” She gave him a wan smile. He frowned, but after glancing at Julia, he left without saying anything else. Elizabeth took the tea tray to the kitchen, and Maggie and Julia were alone.

Julia took a seat on the sofa, watching Maggie warily. Everything had happened so fast upstairs that for most people it would all blur together, but Julia Hoffman was not most people, and she knew what she had seen. She would never forget the wild light in Maggie’s eyes, the defiant poise in her body, the malevolent sneer on her face. Before she could broach the subject, however, Maggie did it for her.

“What happened in there?”

Julia eyed her. “You don’t remember?”

Maggie’s face looked tired and drawn in the waning firelight. “No. Not really ― I don’t know. The last thing I remember is going to bed in my room, and then the next thing I knew I was standing by Vickie’s bed, and everyone was shouting, and I had no idea what was happening.”

“Victoria’s bed ― you don’t remember going into Phyllis’ room? You have no memory at all of what you did there?”

Maggie shook her head. “What did I do?”

“You shut off all the monitors, and then you turned off the respirator.”

_“What?”_

“You tried to kill her, Maggie. I saw you.”

"Oh my God." Maggie grew pale. She ran both hands through her hair, tangling the wild curls rather than smoothing them down. “Julia, I have no memory of that at all. None.” She looked up at Julia with terror in her eyes. “Just like you had no memory of Joe.”

Suspicion turned into horror, and Julia stopped herself just in time from physically recoiling from Maggie. Mastering her reaction, she said quietly, “Is it possible?”

“It shouldn’t have been. I thought I’d taken the proper precautions. But I’ve never encountered a force like this before, never.” Abruptly, she stood and backed away. “If this is true, kept away from everyone until we can reverse it. Especially Vickie.”

“But how? What can we possibly do that would contain her?”

“I can’t know that. You can’t tell me anything until this is over.”

“Maggie, you have all the knowledge here. I don’t know anything about such matters. I can’t possibly―”

“Do you know where my books are? They’ll tell you what to do. Until then, you have to put me somewhere.”

“You want me to lock you away? Maggie, that’s—”

“It’s the only way we can keep Angelique inside me until you can undo this. You must find a way to exorcise her not just from me but from all the inhabitants of Collinwood. Otherwise she’ll go through all of us, one by one, from body to body until she finds a way to destroy Vickie, Barnabas, and everyone close to them.”

Julia felt something close to panic scrabbling at her throat. A short time ago she would have scoffed at the very idea of demonic possession, just as she would have scoffed at the idea of time travel, ghosts, and vampires. Now she was expected to become an expert in something she barely believed, much less understood. And if she failed, more people would die. More blood would stain her hands.

She couldn’t bear to remember that what she had seen within Maggie had been within her too; it made her want to vomit, to weep in horror, to take a scalding shower until she felt clean. But she must put aside her revulsion and deal with the present crisis. Whatever was done, it had to be done immediately. The obscene light that had burned in Maggie’s eyes — the same light that had once burned in her own — might return at any moment.

There was only one place she could think of where a suitable guard could be kept. It was tempting the devil, but she could see no other option. She must take Maggie to Barnabas.

A thought occurred to her then, a sudden flash of memory. She pulled her thick black braid to one side and reached into her blouse until her fingers touched warm metal. Unclasping the chain, Julia held the necklace out to Maggie, careful not to actually touch her.

“Put this on.”

Maggie took the golden cross and studied it in the firelight. “Since when have you worn a crucifix?”

“Since I felt the need for one,” Julia said. She bit off the rest of her answer: _Since I’ve seen what they can do._

“We’ll make a believer of you yet,” Maggie said, and she almost smiled. She slipped the necklace over her hair and settled it around her neck, tucking the cross securely beneath her t-shirt so that it rested against her skin. She rested her hand over it for a moment, concentrating, until she finally looked up and nodded.

“Let’s go.”


	3. Chapter 3

The night storm had long since spent its fury, and only a chilly drizzle followed them as they left the warmth and light of Collinwood. Clouds obscured the moon, but Julia didn’t need its light to find her destination. She led Maggie through the darkness, both of them shivering in the wind, pelted by cold drops from the branches overhead.

“Now that I know, I can try to hold it back,” Maggie said. “Or at least I can give you some warning. But if I can’t, you’ll have to―”

“We’re almost there,” Julia said.

Sure enough, a minute or so later they emerged from the woods and onto a gravel path. Maggie peered up at the black shape looming against the clouds.

“The old house?”

“Barnabas’ house.”

“I don’t understand, what can―” Before she could finish the sentence she groaned and doubled over, then cried out in pain. Julia reached for her, but she shrank back— “No! Don’t touch me!” ― and dropped to her knees, crumpling in on herself.

“Is it—”

“Yes!”

“Oh my God! Can you hold her back?”

Maggie clutched at the pendant around her neck, struggling to keep control. “I’ll try. Hurry!”

She hauled herself to her feet, and together they ran the last few dozen yards to the door of the old house. Julia pounded on the heavy oak with both fists, over and over, until the door opened and Willie stuck his head out into the drizzle. He raised his lamp, making both women squint against the light.

“Doc? What’re you doin’ here?” He saw Maggie then, and his eyes bugged. “Maggie? Hey, what’s wrong with you? Are you sick?” He reached out to help her, but Julia shoved him back.

“Don’t! Don’t touch her. We must get her to the cellar immediately.”

If Willie’s eyes bugged before, now they nearly fell out of his head. “Are you kiddin’ me? You can’t go down there! You shouldn’t even be here, Doc, you know Barnabas is still mad at you―”

Maggie let out a strangled moan. “Hurry, I can’t hold her!”

“Her? Who’s her?” Suddenly Willie gasped and flailed backward. “Jesus, it’s Angelique, ain’t it? She’s inside Maggie just like she was inside you! Ah jeez―”

“I’m going to put her in one of the cellar rooms where we can make a barrier,” Julia said. “It’s the only way. You must let us in, Willie. Now!”

Without waiting for an answer, she pushed him aside so Maggie could enter. Willie, his face gray with fright, hid behind the door as they passed.

“Barnabas ain’t gonna like this,” he muttered.

Trying not to touch her, Julia guided Maggie through the vestibule toward the door leading down to the cellar stairs, but after a few steps Maggie collapsed and cried out.

“Holy God, she’s comin’ out!” Willie yelped. “She’s gonna kill us, Doc, why did you bring―”

“What the bloody hell is going on out here?”

Willie shrank behind Julia as Barnabas strode through the front hall, still wearing the same black clothing from earlier this evening.

“Barnabas, you must help us — Maggie needs you.”

“What on earth are you talking about?”

“It’s Angelique.”

He stopped short. “What?”

“I was right, it was her. We have to get her away from Victoria.”

“Miss Winters is back?” Willie cried.

“Your cellar is the only place I can keep her until I can figure out what to do.”

On the floor Maggie groaned, writhing in torment. Barnabas looked down at her with a mix of dismay, revulsion, and something that looked almost like pity.

“You are certain?”

“Yes. Please, Barnabas, I need your help. Maggie needs your help. I had no choice, there was nowhere else to go. Angelique won’t hurt you — you’re the only one she won’t hurt.”

Still peering down at Maggie, the mix of emotions on Barnabas’ face hardened into anger. Swearing beneath his breath, he stooped to sweep her up into his arms.

They descended the stairs to the cellar, Willie leading the way with his lamp. Passing Barnabas’ room without slowing, they turned the corridor from the servant quarters to the storage rooms. This part of the house had been cleaned but not renovated; faded yellow paint peeled on the plastered walls, and rusted iron sconces hung beside the doors, the low ceiling overhead still bearing scorch marks from ancient torches. Willie chose a door at random and pushed it open with a grating, rusty creak, waving cobwebs away, and held it open for them to enter.

The room was small and windowless, empty but for two crates covered by an ancient blanket. Willie blew the dust from a lump of half-burned candles in the door sconce and lit them with his lamp. Julia grabbed the blanket and spread it across the stone floor, and Barnabas placed Maggie onto it with as much gentleness as he could muster, which wasn’t much. As she rolled from his arms, the cross around her neck slipped from her t-shirt and fell across his arm. Barnabas recoiled, leaving Maggie to hit the floor with a less than gentle thud. He clutched his arm, glaring at Julia with anger and humiliation in his eyes.

“It was all I had,” she said.

“And where did you get it?”

She looked away. “I was wearing it.”

Barnabas laughed, a short jagged sound. “Were you. How fortunate for you.”

On the floor, Maggie began to shiver. Willie watched her, shifting from one fretful foot to the other, clutching his lamp like a talisman before him.

“Uh, Doc….”

“We should take these boxes out of here,” Julia said. “There must be nothing Angelique can use to harm anyone, including Maggie. Quickly, Willie, go and fetch the cross from yesterday, the one J―” but she could not bear to say that name.

“You got it.” Willie glanced once at Barnabas and then fled the room with grateful speed.

Barnabas took the first crate out into the hall while Julia examined the contents of the other: cobwebs, a broken candlestick, some moldy twine, and a length of chain with a keyless lock. She pulled it from the crate, the rusty iron rattling in the stone chamber.

“This will have to do.”

A pained look came over Barnabas’ face. Julia had seen that look before, on the day she confronted him while he slept ― it was memory. Why would he have memories of chains? She banished that thought for the present and concentrated on rolling the half-conscious Maggie onto her side while Barnabas removed the crate. Together they looped the heavy chain around Maggie’s wrists and then around her legs, careful not to hurt her. The lock closed with a rusty squeak; there was no key, but they would have to deal with that later.

The moment the lock’s clasp snapped shut, the chains rattled as Maggie’s body jerked violently. Her curly hair flew back from her face; her blue eyes were wide and brilliant in the dim candlelight, sparkling with malevolence. She craned her neck and stared at the dank walls around her, then tested the rusty chains holding her immobile. And then she saw Barnabas, and the fury in her eyes turned into malicious glee. She laughed — an obscene, coquettish giggle — and when she spoke, Julia’s blood ran cold.

“Do you think this will hold me, _cher_? Do you think any of this can hold me? Look how easily I can take them, any of them. Almost as easily as you can.”

Barnabas stiffened with fury. His hands closed into fists.

“I could kill her right now, if you like,” Angelique said. “Bash her pretty head against this floor until you have to scrub her brains from the stones. Would you enjoy that, my darling?”

“By God—”

Angelique squirmed lasciviously, giggling, licking her lips, taunting Barnabas with Maggie’s bare white throat until he began to growl.

“Barnabas!” Julia cried. “Maggie, think of Maggie!”

Angelique laughed and laughed and laughed. She spoke again, this time in French. Without warning Barnabas lunged for her.

Joe’s iron cross came between them. It touched Maggie’s face and the laugh became a shriek — her spine arched and she screamed, convulsing, while Barnabas leaped backward to crouch against the far wall.

“You leave us alone!” Willie yelled. “You go away and leave us alone!” His eyes swam with tears, but his grip did not waver as he pressed the cross to Maggie’s face without mercy.

Maggie drew in a strangled breath, but before she could scream again, she collapsed. Julia leaned over her, listening for breath ― sighing, she sat down hard on the floor and wiped the dust from her face. As an afterthought, she tucked the little golden pendant back beneath Maggie’s shirt, secure against the skin.

“It’s alright, Willie. It's alright now.”

Willie eased back, shaking. He sniffled, and the cross trembled in his hand as he wiped his nose on his sleeve. Then his eyes went wide, and he thrust the crucifix behind his back.

“Barnabas! It’s gone, Barnabas. It’s gone.”

Barnabas huddled against the wall, one arm shielding his face. He did not move, but his voice was low and controlled when he spoke.

“Julia.”

“Yes?”

“Keep the cross close to Miss Evans. As close to her as you can without harming her. Tell me when you have done so.”

She did as he said, putting herself between them to shield the crucifix from sight. “Alright.”

Barnabas rose to his feet, keeping his face in shadow. He stayed close to the wall, easing himself along the stone until he reached the door. Willie rushed to open it for him; when he felt the fresh air from the hall, he exhaled and slipped from the room without a sound. The candles flickered in his wake.

When he was gone, Julia got to her feet, still holding the cross. “We must get the door bolted securely,” she said. “We can seal it with this.”

“We’re gonna leave Maggie chained up in the dark?” Willie looked as if he were on the verge of tears again. “All alone in the dark like this?”

“Only until tomorrow.”

“And then what?”

“And then I’m going to end this once and for all.”

“OK,” Willie said, though his tone did not indicate he felt okay at all. He helped Julia check the room for any loose objects, and then he extinguished the candles and carried the lamp with them out into the hall. He shot the heavy bolt into place, and Julia wedged the cross between the door handle and the wall.

“You’ll need to secure that,” she said. “Another chain, or a hammer and nail. Quickly.”

“I will. And you’re gonna go figure out how to help Maggie?”

“I am.”

“She can’t really— do what she said she was gonna do, right?”

“She could, but she won’t. If Maggie dies, she has nowhere to go.”

“Good. I like Maggie. I didn’t used to, but I do now. Doc… is Miss Winters really back? Is she OK?”

“She is back. Whether she’s alright, I can’t say yet.” She put a hand on his arm.  “Willie— Barnabas is going to need you in the coming days. Things will not be easy for him.”

“They never are, are they?” Willie said.

Together they trudged up the stairs to find Barnabas waiting in the front hall. His shirt was scuffed and dusty, but his face was calm and his posture was carefully controlled.

“I would sleep in the bedroom today if I were you,” Julia told him. “I’ll be back as soon as I can, but… for your own sake.”

“How thoughtful of you.”

“I only want to help,” she said quietly.

For a moment, something almost softened in him. Julia found she could not meet his eyes, and turned away as Willie approached sheepishly.

“Barnabas, I’m real sorry. I’m sorry I did that to you. I didn’t see no other way.”

“You did what was necessary for Miss Evans. And for me.”

Willie’s lower lip trembled. “You know I wouldn’t never do nothin’ to hurt you, Barnabas. Not if I could ever help it.”

Barnabas put his palm on Willie’s face, but he was looking at Julia.

“I know,” he said.


	4. Chapter 4

The previous night’s squall had ushered in what promised to be a warm summer day, but the warmest day in Maine was still cold to Victoria. She sat on the chaise in her room, drawn up near the window where the drapes had been pulled back to let the bright sunshine pour in. She let it soak through her, willing it to warm her like the cup of tea in her hands, but she still felt chilled to her core. The tea soothed her throat, at least, and numbed the worst of the ache.

She had slept little, and not at all since sunrise. She had no idea what time it had been when she... came back, but it didn’t feel like much time had passed. She remembered little from those first frantic moments of panic, terror, and agony — one moment in the very palm of death, the next surrounded by the living. Her living. She’d dozed for an unknown length of time, waking constantly from nightmares or pain, until she finally opened her eyes to the pink light of dawn and knew she would get no more rest. Exhausted though she was, too many things swirled and shouted inside her head, too many torn pieces of dream and memory, past and present mingling together. Since daybreak she’d sat here, staring out the window, trying to make sense of it all.

Two faces stayed with her, clearer than the rest. Josette had not abandoned her, no matter how much she’d pleaded; she would not go, her dear friend, no longer a name in faded ink but a living, breathing soul, a kindred soul, her own soul. A friend who had sheltered her, helped her, comforted her even in the midst of her own turmoil and anguish. She could still smell the delicate French perfume when they embraced.

_In saving you, I save myself._

But Josette had not saved her, and she had not saved Josette. No one had saved her. She had gone to her fate as the journal recorded, driven by some unseen force to leap to her death on the rocks beneath Widow’s Hill. Had the wind surrounded her like a scream in her ears, like it did that day last autumn? Victoria could still remember that wind, the inhuman howling, the crashing waves, and a voice crying out for her not to move, pleading with her not to go.

She saw him in the schoolroom, fresh and vibrant in the morning light.

_I feel as if I know you_ _―_ _from another place, another time._

She saw him standing in the rain at Jeremiah’s funeral, before they came to take her away. So much pain in his face, so much guilt and despair, and yet he still tried to save her from Trask, even as the woman he loved cursed his name from his brother’s grave.

 _You stupid girl_ , she thought. _It was in front of you all along. You let yourself be blinded. It took blood and death to make you understand. And now what more will happen because of you?_

A light knock sounded at the door. She took a sip of tea, carefully cleared her throat.

“Come in.”

The door opened to reveal Julia, looking freshly showered and groomed, if not particularly rested. “I came to see how you’re feeling,” she said. “May I come in?”

“Of course.”

As Julia drew up a chair beside the chaise, Victoria gestured to the tea service. “Would you like a cup?”

“I’ve already moved on to the stronger stuff, I’m afraid. Two cups of Mrs. Johnson’s coffee.” She waited until Victoria managed a smile, then added, “You look much better this morning. Did you sleep?”

“A little. It’s hard to tell. I had so many dreams.”

“That’s understandable.” She was already looking Victoria over with that doctor’s gaze, examining her eyes and skin before checking her pulse. “Any trouble breathing?”

“No, it’s fine now.”

“No vision problems, difficulty swallowing? Good. That’s very good. May I take a look at your neck?”

Victoria nodded and leaned forward, pulling down the collar of her red turtleneck. The bruises on her throat had deepened from violet-red to purple-black, startling and ugly against the pale skin, but with Julia’s medical discipline her only reaction was a slight pressing of the lips.

“It doesn’t hurt as long as I don’t turn my head much,” Victoria said. “And my voice is nearly back to normal now. But I’m sure it’s not the most attractive thing to see on someone’s throat.”

“I’ve seen worse,” Julia said.

Victoria eyed her, but she said nothing else.

“You like tired, Doctor. I hope you didn’t stay up all night looking after me.”

“I’m a physician, I know how to pull an all-nighter. I’ll catch up on my sleep tonight.” She forcibly brightened her expression and smiled. “And I want you to do the same. You should eat something today if you can — drink plenty of fluids, and take aspirin for any pain or swelling. But above all, rest.”

“I will. I promise.”

“You’ve been through an extraordinarily traumatic event — you must give yourself time to heal. I know the others will be bombarding you with questions at the first opportunity, but you must feel free to ask for space until you’re feeling stronger.” She paused, then added, “Of course, you know you can always talk to me about anything. That is, whatever you feel comfortable with.”

Would she ever be comfortable with the things she had seen? Would she ever be able to talk about the darkness she had encountered, the horrible truths she had learned? One by one the faces of the dead flashed before her: Jeremiah, Josette, sweet little Sarah, dear kind Peter, and yes even Abigail, and Millicent, and Angelique, and―

“I need to talk to Barnabas.”

Julia almost concealed her reaction, but not quite.

 _She knows,_ Victoria thought. _Dear God, she knows._

“Barnabas?”

“I need to speak with him as soon as possible. Do you know where he is today?”

_Her face_ _―_ _look at her face!_

“No... actually, I believe he’s away,” Julia said. “I think he had some business in town.”

“Of course he did.”

Victoria looked out the window again, into the brilliant blue sky, feeling the sunlight warm on her face. Sitting here in the light of day it all seemed so impossible, a half-forgotten nightmare, childhood monsters coming to life in some kind of delirious fever dream. But the day would pass, and the sun would set, and darkness would settle over Collinwood again.

“Tell him I need to see him,” she said. “Tonight.”

Julia sat there for a moment in silence, and then she rose and picked up the tea kettle, refilling Victoria’s cup. She lay a hand on Victoria’s shoulder, but when Victoria continued gazing out the window, she sighed and turned to go. At the door, she paused.

“I’ll tell him. But I don’t know if he’ll come.”

Victoria looked at the beautiful morning outside and saw leaden gray skies, cold rain mixing with tears on a grief-stricken face. A white dress pale in a dark forest. A bottle of French perfume; a music box open in an empty bedroom.

“He will come,” she said.

 

~

 

Maggie had chosen a room at the end of the guest wing, near the service stairs, which made it much easier for Julia to slip in unnoticed. It was filled with the usual visitor’s clutter: clothes spilling from an overnight bag, a towel draped over a chair, toiletries scattered across the dresser. But Maggie was no ordinary guest, and on the desk by the window lay the evidence: stacks of books and papers, several tarot decks, and an assortment of small boxes, bottles, and jars. Draped over the mirror was a bouquet of herbs tied with twine; in a little wooden jewelry box, amulets sparkled among polished stones. Atop an old leather-bound book lay a rosary made of white beads and a silver necklace with a pentacle charm.

Julia searched through this strange jumble, not quite sure what she was looking for. She scanned the title of each book, shaking her head. She had no idea about any of this rubbish. Hypnotism ― alright, that one she knew. Astrology, mineralogy, crystal divination, herbalism… _Guided Meditations, Contacting the Spirit World, Handbook for the Practicing Medium,_ _Defense Against Hostile Entities_. Ah, there it was ― that sounded like a polite way of saying “exorcism”. Julia slipped the book into her doctor’s bag, securely out of sight. She would come back for anything else she might need before she returned to the old house.

Most of Collinwood was still asleep after the previous night’s events, so it was quite easy to slip unnoticed down the corridor toward her own room. She had no idea where to begin; these topics were all gibberish to her. But if she was going to help Maggie ― and she would do so or die trying ― she had to prepare herself as best she could. It would take more than herbs and amulets to send Angelique back to whatever hell she called home.

A muffled noise startled Julia from her thought. At the end of the far hall, half hidden in shadows, a door stood ajar. It crept open a little more, a small creak and a breath of air, revealing a faint light within.

“Elizabeth?” Julia called softly. “David, is that you?”

There was no answer. A cold draft curled around her ankles, and her heart began to pound.

She crept closer, pushing open the door to peer inside. It was a small library, cramped and windowless, full of ancient furniture layered with dust and tarnished candlesticks tangled with cobwebs. The air was cold and musty, smelling of dust and time. In the far corner, holding an oil lamp that glowed without flame, stood a red-haired child in a white nightgown.

“Hello, Doctor,” she said, smiling. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

Her voice was the one that had come from Victoria’s mouth at the first séance, Maggie’s at the second. Julia could scarcely breathe. She felt as if her heart would burst, as if she had finally gone mad.

“Sarah?”

The little girl smiled again, but her delicate features were lined with sadness and pain. This _was_ Sarah Collins, Barnabas’ doomed little sister. She was looking at a ghost.

Sarah held up the lamp, illuminating the bookshelves beside her. Most of the volumes were moth-eaten and faded, their titles illegible from age; but one volume had been pulled out from the others, brushed clean of dust and cobwebs.

“You will need this.”

Slowly Julia approached, hesitating, and then pulled the book free, fearing it would fall apart at the first touch. The cracked leather cover had once been etched in gold leaf, and the writing was barely visible: _Charms, Talismans, and Sacred Spells for the Protection from Harm of Loved Ones._ She shook her head.

“I don’t know what to do.”

“Evil wants to destroy. The opposite of evil is love.”

“Barnabas is in love with Victoria,” Julia said. She bit her lip in dismay ― she had no idea why she had blurted that out, and saying it aloud caused more pain than she could disguise. “And she loves him. I know you tried to stop it. So did I.”

Sarah shook her head. “Love cannot be stopped. Only evil. Evil has come to this house ― you must be brave, and stop it from destroying this family. You will stop it, because you love.”

Tears stung Julia’s eyes, blurring the little girl’s features.

“Your brother loves you so much,” she said. “He doesn’t want to hurt anyone else. He has tried so hard, Sarah. He wants to be free again.”

Sarah’s image grew translucent, like a photograph fading from color to sepia, her delicate features weighed down with sadness and pain.

“But he is not free,” she said softly. “And he will hurt someone else.”

“Who?”

Sarah disappeared.

“Who, Sarah? Who is going to be hurt?”

The library was cold and silent.

Julia clutched the book to her chest and tried to slow her racing heart. She closed her eyes, blinking back her tears, and took a few deep breaths to calm herself. A doctor cannot give in to emotions; she must focus on the task ahead and treat one symptom at a time until the disease was cured. She could not let herself be distracted by obstacles not yet known, fears not yet revealed, or the tragedy of one sad ghost. She could not be distracted by Barnabas’ pain, or her own.

Victoria’s battered neck, bruised by a hangman’s noose. Elizabeth weeping quietly for a shattered family. Carolyn’s blank, bloodless face. Joe Haskell lying in a pool of blood at her feet.

 _Maggie,_ Julia thought. _Maggie needs you now._

She fled from the library and hurried toward her room, clutching the book Sarah had given her. Halfway down the hall she realized she had not closed the door, and turned to go back. The door was shut tight, half-hidden by shadows and swathed in a thick layer of dust. A lock dangled from the rust-sealed knob, covered in undisturbed cobwebs.

 


	5. Chapter 5

Going for a walk had not been the comfort Victoria hoped it would be. Walking the grounds of Collinwood usually cleared her mind and soothed her soul, but now it seemed to have the opposite effect. How little this place had changed in two centuries. She had seen it from a perspective that was not her own, from a time she had no right to occupy. It was unnatural. A person should not look at a house and recall its ancient foundations, or look at a family and remember its distant ancestors. She’d gone outside to escape the house and the memories of the past two weeks; but every tree and path out here, like every room and hall inside, reminded her of the things she had seen and the people she had known. The house reminded her of Peter, Sarah, and all the others… but the woods reminded her of Barnabas.

She should have known. She should have sensed it, somehow; it had all been right there in front of her. She could still see him coming up the path by the front gate that morning, the very first time she saw him after the switch. She’d wanted to scream for joy, to fling herself into his arms and ask him what was happening, until the utter lack of recognition in his face stopped her cold. When Barnabas looked at her like she was a stranger, confusion and panic turned into despair. At that moment she knew that she was not lost in some nightmare, that something was very, very wrong. This was not her Barnabas.

But it had been her Barnabas all along.

It was all too much to comprehend. It couldn’t possibly be real. But with each minute she walked out here in the forest more memories surfaced, more connections, more clues she should have recognized. Halted sentences, curtailed thoughts, sudden shifts of mood… the way he carried himself so formally, the far-off look in his eyes. His face when she’d given him Sarah’s diary… The strange way he looked at Josette’s portrait… His reaction when she ran across Widow’s Hill. ‘Old-fashioned charm’, she’d called it, but it had always been more than that. He carried two centuries with him in every word and gesture. It had always been there, but she had never let herself see it. The Barnabas who grinned and whispered like a naughty schoolboy with Jeremiah, the Barnabas who stood weeping in the rain over Jeremiah’s grave, the Barnabas who came to her in her prison cell and swore to help her ― that was the same man who’d walked with her through these very woods, who’d eaten with her, danced with her, kissed her by the fireplace in the house he’d helped build. And when he had pushed her away so harshly, just as they were about to―

She stopped in the path, her hand flying to her mouth. “Oh, my God.”

She could have died that night. He could have murdered her, mutilated her, like he did to Millicent, to Abigail, to all those women in the town. To poor Josette, driven mad from terror, until she leaped to her death rather than face what he had become.

_Just like he murdered Daphne._

She couldn’t bear it. It couldn’t be true. None of it could be true. But it was.

Barnabas, a monster. An immortal killer, a creature feeding on anyone who got close to him. When did it happen? Was that why she had been sent back? At first she thought it was to save Josette, and then Daniel, but perhaps it was to save Barnabas. Or to save herself from him. In the end, perhaps Josette had saved herself after all. And now―

She sensed someone behind her and whirled.

“David!”

He stood in the underbrush nearby, looking sheepish and apologetic, a far cry from the devious urchin she once knew. Her startled cry had come out hoarse and high-pitched, and she put a hand to her turtleneck collar to make sure her throat was hidden from view.

“I’m sorry, Miss Winters. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Were you following me?”

“I was playing, and I saw you go by. I wanted to see if you’re okay.”

Looking at him out here she could not help but think of Daniel, smiling in the play yard with Sarah by his side. But this was David, not Daniel, and David was a startlingly perceptive child. How much did he know?

“I’m fine,” Victoria said.

“I don’t think you are.”

“Why not?”

“Sarah told me what happened to you.”

“…Did she?”

“She said you didn’t go on vacation. She said you got sent back to the time when she was alive.”

She started to dismiss that as nonsense, but there was no sense lying to him, not anymore. They had a pact, after all. Instead she merely said, “Did she tell you why?”

“She said someone wanted to hurt you.” He peered at her with those big, keen eyes. “Did someone hurt you?”

It took all her effort not to touch her neck. “No, David. I think someone wanted to, but they didn’t.”

“Was it Barnabas?”

“No! Of course not. Why would you think that?”

“I told you!” He cried, his voice rising in volume and pitch. “I told you before! Barnabas is evil!”

She walked toward him, and he came forward to meet her. “Listen to me, David. We said we’d always be honest with each other, didn’t we? I did go back to Sarah’s time, and someone did try to hurt me. But it wasn’t Barnabas.” She struggled to keep her voice calm. “I don’t know really know what’s happened yet, or why it happened. I’m as frightened as you are. But I can’t believe that Barnabas is evil. I can’t.”

“But it’s true! I know because―” He stopped short and bit his lip.

Victoria knelt before him and took him gently by the shoulders. “Did Sarah tell you that Barnabas is evil? Is she the one who told you that?” She suppressed the torrent of questions that threatened to flood out: _What else did she tell you? Did she tell you how any of this is possible? Did she tell you what Barnabas is? Did she tell you how many people he’s killed?_

“She said I should stay away from him. She said he makes her sad, and scared. If he makes Sarah scared, he has to be evil. Sarah says bad things are trying to hurt this family. She says they want to hurt you, and that’s why they sent you back to her time. She said more people are gonna get hurt and killed like Daphne was killed.” His eyes grew bright with dread and fear, and he began to speak rapidly. “I had bad dreams while you were gone, lots of them, about monsters and blood and dead people, and Barnabas was in them, he’s a monster and he’s evil, and you have to stay away from him, you have to! I know I did bad stuff when you first got here but I didn’t mean it, I don’t want you to get hurt anymore, please Miss Winters promise me you won’t get hurt again!” All at once his emotions overwhelmed him, and he burst into tears.

Victoria drew him into a hug and held him tight, soothing him until his loud sobs quieted into sniffles. “Shh, David, it’s alright.” Eventually he composed himself enough to draw back and drag his snotty nose down the sleeve of his thermal shirt. Victoria tucked his bedraggled hair back behind one ear.

“You and I are friends, David,” she said. “I know you wouldn’t do anything to hurt me. I don’t want you to feel bad about that anymore, okay?” She waited until he gave a grudging nod, then tilted his chin up and looked him in the eye.

“Now then, I will make you two promises. One, I promise you that Barnabas is not evil. And two…”

The sounds of the forest seemed to grow louder around them; the wind moaned in the trees until they swayed, creaking, and dead leaves skittered across the path. Victoria shivered, wanting desperately to go back inside.

“I promise I won’t let him hurt me.”


	7. Chapter 7

Willie counted how many steps it took to pace the strip of marble between the front vestibule and the door to the cellar stairs, from one end to the other and back again.

How long he’d been doing this was hard to tell — minutes, hours, all day, who knew. Felt more like a hundred years. After the doctor left, Barnabas had spent the rest of the night standing at the living room window, staring out into the night; but Willie was used to that, and it didn’t bother him much. What had bothered him was the noise that started up in the cellar just before the sun began to rise: weird laughing and crying and screaming all mixed together, sometimes in English and sometimes not, but always in Maggie’s voice. It made Willie’s skin crawl. A minute or two after it started, Barnabas left the room without a word, and Willie heard the master bedroom door slam upstairs. He hadn’t come down since. Willie couldn’t blame him. Maybe he’d even be able to get some rest up there — it would Barnabas a world of good if he would just sleep in a bed like regular people.

So now he paced alone, keeping silent sentry along his marble path, one ear cocked upstairs and one ear downstairs. Sometime after daybreak the awful hollering finally stopped, at least; but even though it was a blessed relief not to hear that dreadful racket, the silence was somehow just as bad. The longer it went on, the more anxious Willie became. He really hoped Maggie was gonna be okay. He used to be a real jerk to her, back before... before all this.

Willie tried not to think too much about what things were like before. Everything moved so fast now — it seemed like every day brought some new trouble to Collinwood, each one weirder than the last. He remembered what he’d said to Miss Winters the night she first got into town: hope you like this freak palace. Man, he didn’t know the half of it then, did he? Sometimes he wished he could go back to those days, before he opened up that tomb and started all this. Sometimes he wished he’d never found that stupid book, and that none of this had ever happened.

But no, he didn’t really wish that, did he? Because then Barnabas would still be stuck in that coffin. How awful it must have been, spending two hundred years chained up like that — no wonder he’d been the way he was when Willie let him out. But he didn’t blame Barnabas for that anymore. It was just the way things were. After all, Barnabas could’ve killed him that night, but he didn’t — no, he kept him around, and now he had a more important job than he’d ever had before. It was kind of nice to be worth something to somebody.

He was just starting to get really hungry, figuring it must be near mid-morning, when a knock at the front door scared the bejeezus out of him. Panic quickly turned to relief as Willie realized who it had to be. He threw the bolt and pulled the heavy door open, and Dr. Hoffman came inside and immediately thrust something out at him.

“Put this on.”

In her hand was a necklace, a glass locket filled with some kind of dried-up plant. Willie raised an eyebrow.

“Do what now?”

“Put it on and keep it next to your skin at all times. Do it now, Willie.”

“OK, OK, I’m doin’ it.” He slipped the silver chain over his head and tucked the locket into his shirt, where it sat cold against his skin while he buttoned his flannel shirt over it.

The doctor wore a similar necklace, tucked into her snug black top. She’d changed into fresh clothes, but from the looks of it she hadn’t been able to sleep either: her eyes had dark circles under them, and her long black braid was not as perfectly groomed as usual. She had her doctor’s bag on one arm, a big book tucked beneath the other, and a grim but determined look on her face.

“You had better wake Barnabas,” she said. “We’re going to need his help.”

Willie bit his lip. Waking Barnabas during the day was not a prospect he relished. “Are you sure? I mean—”

“No need, Willie.” Barnabas’ voice made him flinch, as it always did, filling him with equal parts fear and comfort. “I doubt very much that I could sleep whilst that thing remains in my house.”

Dr. Hoffman watched Barnabas approach with that weird expression she always got on her face whenever he was around. It always made Willie kind of sad for some reason.

“Did you succeed?” Barnabas asked her.

“Yes. I believe I have everything I need.”

“So you can help Maggie?” Willie said.

She was still looking at Barnabas. “I will do everything in my power to repair the damage that’s been done.”

Barnabas did not reply, merely eyed her in silence. They were always trading weird looks like that, but right now Willie had too much on his mind to try to figure out English people staring at each other. He shut the door firmly and asked, “What can I do?”

“First of all, do not take off that amulet until I tell you. As long as it’s touching your skin, you should be safe. Angelique won’t be able to harm you or… do anything else.” She tilted her head to show them the similar chain around her own neck. “Maggie must not have taken that precaution when she did this for me.”

“I doubt she could have realized what she was dealing with,” Barnabas said.

“But I do.” She held up the book she carried, a leather-bound volume so old it looked ready to fall apart. “This book contains a incantation that will drive Angelique from any mortal body. It isn’t powerful enough to destroy her — I honestly don’t know if that’s possible. What I do know is that we can take this particular weapon from her, at least for the time being, and prevent her from violating anyone else.” She hesitated, then added, “Any other mortals, I mean. But I don’t think… that is, I don’t believe she would...”

“She cannot harm me,” Barnabas said. “Her curse is on all those around me.”

Willie’s eyes widened.

The doctor only nodded. Bluntly Barnabas asked her, “Can you do this?”

“I will do this,” she said. “I’m a doctor. I have a patient. I don’t know if I truly believe what’s in this book, but six months ago I didn’t believe in vampires, or séances, or time travel —Maggie believes these words have power, and so I must believe it too. And so must you.”

“Very well,” Barnabas said. “Let us begin.”

Willie snatched his lamp from its peg on the wall and followed them to the cellar door. Holding the lamp aloft, he led the way down the winding stairs, surrounding them in a pool of light as they descended into the darkness. At the bottom Barnabas waited while Willie ran ahead to pry Joe’s cross loose from the latch of the storage room door and shove it beneath his jacket. He nodded the all-clear, and Barnabas started forward. But Dr. Hoffman stopped him — and for the first time since that awful night in the Collins crypt she dared to touch him, laying a careful hand on his arm.

“Barnabas, this will not be easy. There is no way we can do this without… this won’t be easy for you. I am sorry for that. I truly am.”

One side of his mouth curled into what was either a smile or a sneer; it was hard to tell the difference with Barnabas.

“Never worry for me, Doctor. Though I am touched by your concern.”

They continued to stare at each other, saying nothing, until Willie cleared his throat.

“Uh, Doc?”

“Yes, Willie. Come, help me get the things from my bag.”

Together they spread the bag’s contents across the floor: a bundle of dried plant material twisted into a stick; a colorful woven talisman on a braided cord; a silver chain with a pentacle amulet; a string of pearl-and-silver rosary beads; and a wooden cross carved with intricate symbols. Barnabas inhaled sharply when he saw this last, but he did not turn away. Dr. Hoffman held the herb stick in the flame of Willie’s lamp until it began to smolder, then placed it on the floor just outside the door, where it sent white smoke wafting across the threshold. She stuck the cross in her front pocket, wrapped the silver necklace around her wrist, and held the talisman and rosary out to Willie.

“Bring these in with you and keep them close. As soon as Angelique sees us, she’ll know what we’re trying to do. Barnabas will be the only one strong enough to restrain her — when he does, you must put both of these around her neck.”

Willie shrank back. “Me? I thought I was just gonna hold the door and stuff!”

“Willie,” Barnabas said, somewhat wearily. “If I am able to do my part in this, I am perfectly confident you will be able to do yours.”

Willie put a hand to his chest and felt around until he found the glass locket beneath his shirt, resting against his skin. He looked at Barnabas, swallowed, and nodded. “OK.”

“Good man,” said Dr. Hoffman. She put a hand on the door bolt, then paused. “Whatever happens, we must remember that Maggie is the one at greatest risk right now. No matter how much Angelique fights, no matter what she says, you must remember that this is Maggie.”

“I am well aware of that,” Barnabas said. “I have no desire to see Miss Evans injured.”

She shot the bolt with a sound like a gunshot in the stone corridor, and the door opened with a grating whine. Willie held up his lamp, throwing a long bar of light across the stone floor.

In the far corner, a small form lay curled into a ball; at the noise of the door grinding open, the shape rolled over. Maggie squinted at the intrusion of flickering light after hours in total darkness. Her face was dirty and bruised, her hair disheveled and covered in dust. In a hoarse voice she said, “Julia?”

“We’re here to help you, Maggie. I went to your room and found your things. And I have another book here, one that I… I found. I know what to do.”

Maggie’s face brightened. “You can do this, Julia. I know you can. You have to believe it.”

“So do you. You must brace yourself, Maggie. Fight as hard as you can.”

“I will. I—” Her words broke off in a groan and she grimaced, curling in on herself. “Do it now! Hurry!”

Dr. Hoffman strode forward, smoke from the smoldering herbs swirling in behind her, curling around her feet. Willie stuck the lamp on its post and followed, brandishing his assigned weapons one in each hand like a shield before him. Barnabas alone lingered by the doorway. Without waiting for him, Dr. Hoffman opened her book and began to read aloud.

At the first word Maggie cried out and convulsed, the chains that bound her rattling against the stone floor. Willie fought the urge to flee. The doctor’s voice filled the stone chamber, hesitant at first but quickly steadying, growing louder and louder until she was nearly shouting. Willie had no idea what the strange words meant, but the sound of them turned his blood to ice water. He couldn’t stop shaking. He risked a glance at Barnabas’ face, and immediately wished he hadn’t.

On the floor Maggie twisted and writhed, the rusty chains making a deafening racket that almost drowned out the doctor’s voice. And then, all at once, her struggles ceased and she went still. Dr. Hoffman hesitated.

Maggie’s anguished groaning turned into a cackling, profane laugh. She raised her head and opened her eyes: malevolent, terrifying, glittering with hate and malice. Angelique laughed, but not at the doctor — she was looking at Barnabas.

“Ah, I knew it was you. I knew you would come back to save her. Always the gentleman, eh, _mon cher_? Always rescue the damsel in distress. Except for the ones you kill, of course.”

“Continue your work, Doctor,” Barnabas said.

“ _Oui_ , by all means,” said Angelique. “Do what you like. It does not matter. You cannot destroy me. There is no power that can destroy me. Not even you, Barnabas — I am forever, my love, just as you are. And you are just as I am.”

Willie looked at Barnabas again, and his fear blossomed into full-blown terror. He knew the thing that quivered just behind that tightly controlled countenance. He had seen it before, and every time he had seen it, someone had died. In his head Willie began reciting every prayer he had ever learned in Sunday School, whether he could remember the words or not. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been so scared. The funny thing was, this time he couldn’t figure out who he was scared for.

Barnabas’ lip twitched, but he retained his control. “I was never like you,” he said evenly. “Not then, and not now. And you were never like me. You never knew me.”

She gave him a lascivious grin. “Oh, we both know that’s not true. We knew each other many times, my love.”

“Love? The word rots on your lips.”

“And yours, _mon cher_. Everyone you have ever loved is rotting now.”

Barnabas flinched.

Angelique giggled. “Ah, yes! They are all dead — everyone who has ever loved you. These here will be no different. They will all die. Every mortal with Collins blood, every creature who cares anything for you — one by one, I will destroy them all. And I will save your little pet for last.”

Barnabas took a step forward.

“Doc,” Willie whispered.

Dr. Hoffman flipped desperately through the pages in her book while Angelique laughed and laughed.

“Oh yes, I have something special in mind for her, Barnabas. _Mais oui, croyez-moi._ Josette’s death was far too easy. Far too quick. The girl’s will be slow. Exquisitely slow. In the end she will beg me for death. And she will curse your name before she dies, just like Josette did.”

She laughed again, but this time the voice was that of Victoria Winters.

“God damn you—”

Barnabas lunged, but at that moment Dr. Hoffman began her incantation again and Angelique’s laughter broke off in a gasp. Barnabas used his momentum to hold her down as she tried in vain to twist away from the herbal smoke wafting over her and the sound of Dr. Hoffman’s voice. Angelique kicked and struggled, screaming obscenities in English and French. The little golden cross Maggie wore beneath her t-shirt flew out, glittering in the smoky light. Barnabas winced and recoiled from it, then bared his teeth in rage and grabbed the chains around her wrists, jerking her up to him to hold her still. Angelique fought madly, but the body she inhabited was still human, and Barnabas overpowered her easily. Crushing her against him, he glared at Willie with golden eyes and growled a single word through his bared fangs.

“Now.”

Summoning all the courage he’d ever had, Willie knelt beside Barnabas and threw the rosary and amulet around Maggie’s neck. The rosary’s cross landed on Barnabas’ arm — he jerked and made a ghastly sound, but he did not let go. Maggie’s body convulsed with incredible force, but Barnabas was far stronger, and his grip did not waver.

“Keep going,” he growled at the horrified doctor.

“You can do nothing to me!” Angelique screamed. “Nothing! I hold the curse upon the house of Collins! I will see you every one of you dead!”

She twisted in Barnabas’ arms, hissing at him, spitting in his face. Willie wanted to help, but he was too afraid to move. Dr. Hoffman, it seemed, was not. Her hesitance gone, she began to speak faster now, louder than the rattling chains and screamed profanities, dangling the pentacle over Maggie’s body while Angelique kicked and thrashed. The rosary beads still lay across Barnabas’ arm; thin tendrils of smoke began to rise from the contact point. Still he did not release his grip. The cords stood out on his arms as he held on hard enough to bruise Maggie’s flesh while trying not to snap her bones like twigs.

“I will kill her before I go,” Angelique hissed.

“You will not,” Barnabas snarled.

“This will not hold me. If I cannot use this body, I will find another. And another, and another—"

“You will not!” Barnabas cried.

“Go away!” Willie shouted. “Just go away!”

“You will all die!” Angelique screamed. “All of you! _Je reviendrai! Je r_ —”

Her words broke off in a shriek as the lamp on the wall abruptly flared with a flash of red flame and white light. Maggie went rigid, gasped once, then collapsed in a limp heap in Barnabas’ arms. Instantly Barnabas dropped her and fell back, winded. Dr. Hoffman dropped her book and rushed forward to lean over Maggie’s body. She felt for a pulse, listened for breath, looked into Maggie’s eyes one by one. At last she turned to Willie, her face shining with triumph.

“Help me get these off her.”

The chains had bruised Maggie’s body and arms, cutting into the skin around her wrists. Willie and the doctor pulled frantically at the rusty lock, but Willie shook his head.

“There ain’t no key, Doc. We’ll have to pull ‘em off somehow.”

“Do you have bolt cutters? A hatchet? We could try to—”

“Move,” said a low, graveled voice.

Crouched on his haunches, Barnabas shifted into the light. His face was livid: skin like clouded ice, eyes flashing golden hellfire. The doctor gasped and shrank back, and Willie gaped in fright. Barnabas reached between them to grasp hold of the lock with both hands. He snapped the bolt with a single wrench and the lock fell apart in pieces. The chains dropped in a pool around Maggie’s body. Barnabas loomed over her, his body poised and trembling.

“Barnabas,” Dr. Hoffman said.

One hand reached out to brush Maggie’s hair aside, exposing her bare neck. The other curled into the broken chains to move them aside as he slid forward, bending closer, and licked his lips.

“Barnabas!”

He whirled and hissed at them — fangs bared, eyes alight, snarling in fury and bloodlust.

Beneath him Maggie stirred and moaned softly.  
Barnabas’ eyes widened. Maggie stirred again, coughing weakly, and abruptly he flung himself backward and out of sight in the shadows against the wall.

“Get her out of here.”

“We must take her to Collinwood where I can watch her,” said the doctor. “Willie, help me ― we must move her without being seen.”

“I know how to do that, Doc,” Willie answered, then felt sick when he realized what he had said. His face burned as he tried not to look in Barnabas’ direction.

Slowly, painfully, Barnabas drew himself to his feet. He grasped the open door to keep himself steady. The lamp light fell upon his face; it was pale and drawn, but its features had returned to normal.

“Will she be alright?” he said.

“Yes, I think so.”

“And Angelique?”

“If I did everything properly, she shouldn’t be able to inhabit anyone else, at least not here on these grounds.”

“Well that’s good!” Willie cried. “I don’t think I could take no more of that.”

“Angelique doesn’t need a mortal body,” Barnabas said. “Her curse is an immortal one.” He started to turn, then closed his eyes and leaned heavily against the door.

“Willie, I think you should help Barnabas upstairs so he can rest. I’ll see to Maggie. We can take her to Collinwood when you come back.”

Willie moved forward by instinct, but hesitated until Barnabas opened his eyes. They were weary brown rather than vicious gold, and Willie sighed and rushed to his side to get a shoulder underneath one arm.

“C’mon, Barnabas, lemme help you.”

He was a pro at this now, knowing just how to get Barnabas balanced and hold him steady while they headed for the door. Barnabas leaned against him, smelling of smoke and dirt, damp stone, and Maggie’s perfume. His eyes were still on Dr. Hoffman.

Softly he said, “Thank you.”

She nodded without reply. She had that look on her face again, and for a moment Willie almost felt sad again. On the heels of sadness came a sudden fear, so sharp it made his heart pound.

_Every creature who cares anything for you... they will all die._

But then Barnabas trembled, and Willie shifted his weight and held him steady and began maneuvering them toward the door. He was tired and hungry and worried and scared half out of his mind, but all of that would have to wait. He had a job to do. The doctor would tend to tend to Maggie, and he would come back down here later and clean up the mess. Barnabas needed him now.


End file.
